


21st Century Boy

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Sydney (Location), Travel Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7177595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long summer days can be a little cruel to the bored, the friendless, and the pale-skinned. It's Oikawa Tooru vs. the Sydney sun and the ultimate victor will be...?</p><p> </p><p>(Of photography, loneliness, and one writer's indulgent love of a certain city)</p>
            </blockquote>





	21st Century Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, so it started with a couple of tweets being thrown and suddenly, 6 months later there's the first ever Australian Haikyuu Zine [Our Summer](https://twitter.com/oz_hqfanbook/status/741921163249487873)??!!! It was such a privilege to be part of this project and seeing the 50 page accumulation of art and writing talent is!!?!! I'm still in awe at how polished the final product is. Go download it, check it out, and scream :D :D :D
> 
> I also had the pleasure of doing this as part of a fic/art collab with [pinkleaf](https://www.instagram.com/pinkleaf_/) (her gorgeous illustrations can be found in the pdf). We actually travelled and ate at all this places in this fic for ultimate authenticity points too!
> 
> Also! There are many unnamed character cameos in here, can you catch them all? :D

The Sydney summer expels a certain listlessness that Oikawa Tooru cannot shake off. It clings to him through the sweat on his brow and melts into his skin every time shadow shifts into sunlight. It sends him hurtling into bed with air conditioning on high, phone on full brightness and fingers automatically scrolling, scrolling, scrolling through hours of radical slideshows ( _These Korean Fitness Trends Will Shock You!_ ), Buzzfeed lists ( _21 GIFs Of Male Anime Characters That Will Make You Thirsty AF_ ) and reddit threads ( _What tasty food would be disgusting if eaten over rice?_ ).

In hindsight, he could grumble a correlation between the long rolling days and the unfilled pages of his moleskine planner (entirely blameable on ludicrous airplane fares and the concept of an international education). These days, his collection of volleyballs is firmly tucked into the darkness beneath his bed. There’s no one to share the cost of rented courts and Sydney is simply too hot to exist outdoors. University’s out, his friends are out and it seems the entire notion of productivity in his existence is _out_.

This morning, Hanamaki’s instagramming from some place in Japan (the caption: World’s best ramen for breakfast #bejealous). The shot is super aesthetic, angle tilted slightly and background blurred purposefully. The colours are balanced to highlight the steaming bowl where the tonkotsu broth glistens in the low light and the neatly arranged noodles are folded to artistic perfection.

Oikawa stares a second longer than he is willing to before angrily scrolling past and -

A white heart materialises on top of the photo.

He squawks and drops his phone onto his face, then squawks again before quickly fumbling it back into his grip. In a flurry, he scrolls back up and unlikes the photo before sighing in relief.

In mere seconds, an orange bubble pops from the bottom of his screen.

 

_MacMakki has mentioned you in a comment_

 

MacMakki:

@GRANDSLAM Dude I saw that. Don’t take it back.

 

GRANDSLAM:

@MacMakki It was a mistake.

 

MacMakki:

@GRANDSLAM like staying in Sydney in summer lol

 

GRANDSLAM:

@MacMakki (ಠ_ಠ)凸

 

MattSON:

@GRANDSLAM @MacMakki burn

 

MacMakki:

@GRANDSLAM @MattSON metaphorically and literally

 

GRANDSLAM:

@MattSON @MacMakki 凸(ಠ益ಠ)凸

 

After the last emoji, Oikawa huffs and closes Instagram with determined resolution. He stares at his home screen, fingers already itching for twitter, tumblr, pinterest, _something._ His background of a Bondi sunset from a year ago stares back unblinkingly.

Mind whirring, Oikawa pouts and thinks of picture perfect meals and Instagram likes and and satisfaction of transcontinental taunting. He thinks of his father’s camera in the cupboard and the empty summer days and the sprawling city of Sydney before him.

With newfound determination, he picks up his phone and searches for an adventure.

 

 

**BRAINWAVE CAFE**

732 Harris St, Ultimo

 

 

It’s an immediate love, from the sharp turn into an alleyway, to the wooden tables basking in the sun and the chalkboard menu with the weekly special lovingly written in calligraphy (pulled pork with chips).

Oikawa’s eyeing pictures of milk tea soft serves when a head pops out from inside.

“Hello!” a man grins, “why don’t you come in.” He has a mole dusting one cheek and a fly away hair that bounces when he springs on his heels. When Oikawa fumbles with a greeting and trips forward, the answering smile is electrically bright.

The interior is even more gorgeous, with a high industrial ceiling and the aroma of something stewing dancing from the open kitchen. The chef is wearing a denim apron and a Hawaiian print shirt with the sleeves rolled up (biceps, _oh_ ). He shoots Oikawa the most reassuring grin when he steps up to order.

There’s an upstairs (and how Oikawa loved places with an upstairs) and when he sits down at the largest table, he notices the large opening that reveals the kitchen below. Oikawa perches a little higher and peers down at the tetris arrangement of trays and chopping boards. The chef is multitasking between 3 pots and a fry-pan effortlessly and when the cheery waiter leans over to grab a slice of lime, he bumps their hips with his own. The resultant harmony of laughter is saccharine sweet and Oikawa wilts a little in his own loneliness.

The tropical sparkling tea he orders is bliss on his tongue and the bubbles defeat all memory of UV rays and ozone holes.

The breakfast burger looks and smells delicious. Oikawa had just picked up the cutlery when he remembers Hanamaki and his bowl of tonkatsu ramen. He frowns, puts the cutlery back down and throws a cautionary glance at the other (oblivious) patrons, then takes out his camera with vindication.

 

 

**CHANOMA ******

1/501 George St, Sydney

 

Time has moved but the summer has not. One week after his first forage into the wild, Oikawa finds himself meandering from shadow to shadow along the edges of George Street. There’s an annoying pair of teenagers in front of him taking up the entire footpath with their bickering and Oikawa contemplates whose ankle he should step on in retribution (the short hyper one or the tall brooding one hm…).

Pitt Street Mall is still a little while yet and his throat feels thoroughly parched. He should buy….he… bought a tub of ice cream yesterday (Messina, for himself, and finished it in a night) and silk moisturising facial butter from FaceShop the day before that and _needs_ the new Uniqlo shorts in mint green so his wallet is a bit…. _screw it._

Oikawa spins around and darts into a nearby building, past yellow lights and the conical trees and afternoon readers sipping from blue coffee cups.

After emptying all his change to a tiny, terrified cashier, he takes the first gulp of his matcha shiratama float and - and it’s _glorious_ , tasting like salvation and popularity and bragging rights.

(He snaps a photo with his phone, and does not guilt himself over the alternative 50 cent soft serve cones from McDona- Maccas. Maccas.)

 

* * *

 

The day is spent freeloading air conditioning from Sydney’s best and finest. He browses luxury brands in Westfield (if only for the thrill of having an employee open the door for him. Though the stony faced hulk in Prada did soured that experience a little), scavenging secondhand books at Elizabeth’s, takes selfies at the Apple Store, samples free bread from the Dough Collective and orders one serve of bukkake soba from Mappen with the straightest face he could (“So mature,” Iwaizumi types into their group chat as Makki and Mattsun sends a slew of emojis).

He misses volleyball, a little. But distracting himself with photography helps, a little.

 

* * *

 

Other days he kicks the car awake and treks south for cinnamon scrolls and west for pho and north for all kinds of street food. He takes photos, edits them, posts them and waits until he has enough likes to sustain an ego - then repeats the cycle.

 

Slowly, gradually, a surprising myriad of details reveal themselves in the city Oikawa thought himself to be familiar with.

 

There are handwritten book recommendations scattered everywhere in Kinokuniya, nestled between the edge of the book and the shelf. They hang down like an invitation, a suggestion from existences independent to his own. Standing on tip toe, Oikawa finds his favourite under LIT: CAL.

 

         “I only read this book because a pretty girl told me to, but now I’m so glad I listened to her.”

 

At the intersection of George and Market, graffitied on the back of a stop sign, is the sprawling scribble of

 

 _d i g n i t y_ -

 

\- and Oikawa wonders, at the thought, the moment, the person which inspired such an action.

 

He continues staring even after the light has gone green, motionless as strangers shift pass, face tilted up and camera forgotten.

Somewhere in the Central tunnel, there’s a space where the music blends between buskers. Between two strides, Oikawa feels the melodies click, waltzing in perfect counterpoint for a heartbeat before diverging into dissonance.

There’s jazz guitar pouring into one ear and pop piano in the other and Oikawa, breathing out, closes his eyes in the realisation that some memories cannot be captured by camera.

 

* * *

 

 

Summer is ending but the heat is still stubborn in its persistence to be omniscient and burdensome. One morning, Oikawa decides on his last trip before the university grind begins again.

 

 

* * *

 

“If you want to take good photos…” a classmate has said -

“Go on a weekday, do _not_ even try a weekend,” advised a follower -

“It’s overhyped,” signed a Facebook friend - wait that’s Makki _what does he know_ Oikawa squints. Then decides to go to -

 

**THE GROUNDS OF ALEXANDRIA**

7A, 2 Huntley St, Alexandria

 

He walks in confidently and almost freezes in place because _there’s so much to see._ There’s open woodwork and threading pipelines and fairy lights and plants hanging from strings and industrial light bulbs and - the rustic aesthetic is so _on point_ and there’s details _everywhere_ -

He gives up and takes a photo, ( _Hipster_ he hears Mattson whisper in his ear) then beelines for the cute waiter with the bedroom eyes.

“Table for one,” he sings, holding out one long finger, voice lilting with the right amount of flirtation. His grin drops into a frown when the waiter merely raises an eyebrow and grabs a menu without batting an eye.

“This way,” he nods, spinning around and leaving Oikawa with the view of (his backside, and) lines of generously baked breads and delicate cakes placed in row after mouthwatering row (there’s sourdough and lychee rosewater cake and dulce le leche caramel with pistachio and - )

“Just a moment,” he stumbles - and could swear he heard a sigh.

 

(But he _needs_ a picture impressing cute waiters be damned.)

 

“Hey hey hey,” another waiter bounces in once he is seated. He sets down water in a _milk glass,_ “can I get you anything?”

Oikawa blinks at the milk glass then at the shock of bleached hair, “Yes, coff-“ he peeks at another table and, oh, coffee comes in a mint green cup - he suppresses a sigh - “Iced, iced coffee please.”

He also orders ‘cromquembouche’, only because the description reads _“profiterole filled with vanilla custard and coated with toffee_ and he didn’t really need to read past profiterole to imagine the perfect revenge.

 

He’s browsing through kneepads on his phone when his disassembled iced coffee arrives on a politely small tray. The ice cubes are actually frozen coffee, the milk is in a jug, the syrup in a syringe and Oikawa could hear Iwaizumi rolling his eyes in Japan.

“Bro, you play?”

“What?” Oikawa looks up to see the wild-looking waiter from before.

“Volleyball man,” the waiter ( _Bokuto_ his name card reads) motions at his phone, “You play?”

“Oh,” Oikawa realizes, blinking, “Yes.”

“Awesome!” Bokuto grins, “Me and some bros got a beach volleyball thing this Sat. We’re short on players, you wanna?”

Oikawa opens his mouth, “Oh.”

“It’ll be pretty chill but we’re actually pretty good,” he charges forward, “My spikes are _amazing_ and we got these smartass blockers and the most solid receiver and this super combo of high school boys and it’ll - be an _awesome_ game.”

“I -“ Oikawa swallows, “scored the most services aces in my high school division?“

“Woah! That’s _awesome_. Thanks!” Bokuto leans forward and shakes his hand brightly ( _but I didn’t even say…._ ) “I’ll give you my number right now but Akaashi’s glaring at me so later, I’ll catch you later!”

“Okay.” Oikawa waves as Bokuto spins around to target another table. Then looks at his iced coffee. Half of the ice has melted (damn it Australia) into a puddle and the possibility of a photogenic shot is quickly decreasing.

But he’s playing volleyball on Saturday. _Volleyball_. He looks at his hands and imagines the tingling burn of a good serve against his palm. A memory from another country.

And banks on the promise of a new memory, here in Sydney.

The iced coffee tastes like satisfaction.

 

 

 

(But true satisfaction comes when he sends Makki a picture of the pretentious pile of profiteroles.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I actually planned to embed some instagram posts but?! the html bit my hand and I'm on the verge of confused tears gomen ;___;
> 
> Feedback and critique are always welcomed! I hope that I didn't go overboard with the details and that people unfamiliar with Sydney were also able to enjoy this fic. 
> 
> Please check out other fics from this zine~~  
> [full sun; chance of storm](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7176563) by memorde  
> [futakuchi kenji's book of friends](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7176440) by commonvente


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